Cut up technique experiment

[KurtAurelius]

(Be as brutal as you want to be with feedback, or discussion I’ve been reading Burroughs and likely am copying, been avoiding my own projects lately and have devised all my attention to distraction)

Modern Disparity

No witness for a statement, it is needed only through both body, sense a mind, separate forces.

The year is 2026, I am 24 years now and 25 on the month of my birth. I have no qualifications so far as my body and my mind.

Cartoonz for consumers, I see the screen flash, the sofas my social living credits could buy, I drool over myself in a Cannabis haze, mechanically shoving and scraping crisps against my mouth as I cease any intellectual control over my reality.

It’d be good to let you know I grew up more interested in Codeine Phosphate than Society and did not fit in, as the veil allows itself to suppose so.

It comes to my mind, a lab coat and plastic safety goggles firmly strapped on.

“ I was convinced these possible brain changes were a form of a lobotomy, the world doing so that my “disruptive mind” could be calmed to keep racking in taxes for the man puffing his big cigars” my little brother of science tells me with certain ease.

He revealed to me the Trilogy of Man, the lifeless office and the receding hair lines, tailored suits for flabby asses and large tobacco leaf rolled.

I hear them clink their drinks and watch the cherry of the cigars be drawn. Flecks of estrogenic dementia persist.

I’m happy to report in my field tower, withstanding that I’m still my paranoid and cynical self in regards to government and capitalism policies but held under strict remand, the lock and key of internet dissent forums so far not removed by the regime.

The camera moves to the pirate radio host who looks like Martin Hannet, drinking cold water extract from nurofen plus.

He beckons to me in counter culture wisdom with a grim view muffled in surround sound.

“The lens is the key to how you see, defining definitions but contention is permanent” he nods sluggishly, like a Father of Misery

“Forget your thoughts!” The Suit spittles over the scene, flapping a big wrinkly nicotine stained finger to the third eye, painted as an undercooked supermarket sausage in the dissociation.

“Don’t trust them, butttttt, um, you must be yourself.. else suffer Abyss!” spoken through a grin of teeth speckled with coffee and nicotine stained by delirious acceptance.

I scratch my head from histamine, I must buy Dihydrocodeine rather than Codeine next time.

Be someone without input?.. I am winnowing like I'm stealing from a coin fountain…

How to be without input? It makes me ponder in my stupor slumped on the black bed, pagan symbols for nothing more than a skin pile of senses.

The nodding paradox continues his muse,

“ I can’t think while training only to survive by thinking” I ask myself through a nystagmus lens, phasing in the poppy field I lie in, and then my bedroom.

The poppy field attendants nod along in respect, giving way for the endorphin disguises to continue.

“The circle of this life ends with the idea of me, so how best to sever this attachment?” I roll my thumb through an abrasive plastic blister pack, feeling against my flushed skin bitter tablets of damaged synapses.

I look down to the table, to sign the waiver for the Brompton Cocktail, grinning medical priests stand over me with my page just below the top of pen.

I suddenly spring almost flying above the chair, full chakras beaming light through the lizard parasites around me.

“How about Psychedelic Dimension?!” I exclaim in euphoric mania.

I am again now Nodding on Treatises, conceptually applying body and vessel, concentration or longing?

Togas I see, Diogenes squatting down to shit like a dog, no no, that can’t be it!

My nod realm avatar flabbergasted in my mind's eye, how is he somehow dismayed with 240mg Dihydrocodeine? It is just a word association! Or salad regarding philosophy!

I dart awake, is Mindfulness or perception is… is… what?

The disapproving avatar stands almost to a degree of stroke, suddenly vibrating and shaking like delirium tremens.


“No in between the same as day or night!”

I see myself below the moon , tucked into knees with the moon watching over, a promiscuous smile she has but I cannot move past the darkness of recycling death.

She whispers suddenly.

“Move past the perceived woes,
Learn, act, focus or be”

At once my psychosis starts squealing, jumping up and down like a baby monk in the sky.

He resolves in perfect form, posture of total awareness.

“Those are the choices, unless neurosis is preferred, repeat the cycle again moment to moment, lesson yet to be learned”

I half awake for a time, and I start to smirk to myself.

“I dunno man, I just don’t agree, I don’t care not money, or to live for any extra pleasure, it’s whatever I feel like at the end of the day” I whine in the most infuriating tone that all Opioid users share.

Drifting away into slumber after 5 hours of waking dreams and knowing how painful constipation will eventually be.

In a dissonance of fog, I lay in the bedroom candles burning and incense smoldering.

I watch the candlelight flicker as my perceptions of reality falter into the headspace of my mind.

Peaceful acceptance leads to questions and dark images, corpses writhing perpetually in synchronicity.

I view my form and perceive the fact of obsolescence for it, a non existent entity. Whatever I think is not me and therefore it means nothing.

With that, my enjoyment of this day fades quickly into dark death, I tell myself again it must be that sun going down, always an explanation for everything the autistic father's voice has.

I picture him in this view, collated texture suit, disappointed as the voices normally are.

The dogs look at me but they have their answer.

Living according to solely senses.

No words to make things confusing.

Noise is noise words are noise once you move past them.

Nothing has meaning except a false sense of it.

Hot coffee seeps into my throat, replacing the suicidal ideation pills. ADHD medication is like opioids in a way, as they remove the reason for anything.

Mind Versus Body, each will lead you to wanting to kill yourself.

Cannabis can take advantage of the existential anxiety I feel.

It can permeate the ego in some way.

I’m disabled as I don’t get the ego death others do.

That’s when you have to question the perception that ego and body are inseparable for neurodivergents.

A way?

“To what I tell you?”An irritated cat is guarding the alley.

“How can you even consider that when nothing is everything?”

I look at the cat and turn back. It’s all senseless riddles as usual.

 

[Shambles]

Possibly my favourite so far, Kurt!

 

[KurtAurelius]

(I will try refrain from spamming into infinity, maybe making this the last one, if I write enough I’ll have to credit blue light into the manuscript!)

Never mind, a warm glow has captured me, because I suddenly feel just warm and pleased it all went away! Feelings really are the answer!

The lochness monster of transcendental nihilism falls over himself in a pathetic pool of tears.

A band plays through animatronics with the worst reverb mixing ever heard.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore” a man child screams with phlegm across a television screen, his mother standing disappointed in the living room, wiping tears away to start popping phosphate tablets out of a blister pack.

Codeine is a prodrug and has an upper limit for conversion to Morphine, I take the daily prescribed 8 tablets across 4 doses 4 times a day in a single serving twice a day.

I have ran away from Opioid Withdrawal, like the man I saw run to the bus late at the same time every day, even though he was always late.

I recall the musty fore street I walked down to get to the bus station, his baggy jeans and square eyeglasses, polo t shirt and shuffling panic.

Everyday he would leave his flat late and I never saw him leave on time.

Just like that I’ve never had sleepless nights or restless legs, I cheated worse than any lick.

With this gift I have instead desecrated, burning figurative churches in my dream scapes.

I have soiled the communion wine, and I struck with my junky spittle the holy vicar of pedestry, he falls to the ground with the voice of forgotten bottom.

A highly whiney voice that differs with chemical notes compared to the floral Poppy.

I am Frozen to the bed, knowing expectations lead to falling asleep.

The irony is that once I am needed I will be tired, when I can rest I’ll find myself restless.

I appreciate my parents and witness them past tense partaking in many pollutants, being paid by the government for a secret eugenics program, to witness the downfall of humanity.

National insurance numbers on the screen of late ninety computers, MI5 under the watchful eye of CIA ghostwriters, black suits and sunglasses, camera cells looking into my smoking father.

As a baby I wouldn’t stop crying, as an adult I still dream about dying, implanted in from my birth.

“Where’s Wally?” the nurse would yell at me as she slid a monstrous hypodermic into me and Wallys ink would wipe of the page with my chloride tears.

She injected the knowledge that my parents unknowingly gave their souls away, as did the entire generation, the parents of them being the archetypal to misery.

I can picture the wordless neglect of child abuse, emotions denied by and all failure reprehensible to any spirit.

My grandfather I can see lying in his care bed, the 60th thousand pound he paid for his 10 month dementia stay.

He watches men intellectually incapacitated behind the paper newspaper screen, the experiment to the pixels for today,

The societal guidebook drawn up, raising traumatised children to support further slave offspring, like a factory or a farm.

I can see them counting bills, agents of the crown, our gods chosen constitutional monarchy at work, the watchful eye of big brother, like a hive mind of the third eye.

Abraham the Eye reaches for the sky, Pagan Sol swats him back like Abraham is a fly, “you filthy barbarian ” Sol blurts in retort.

Then unto Albion pours the incestual delinquent, built of the back bone of mass plagues of serfdom, pus filled buboes and rotting decay, bodies writhing in agony as all pain relief is denied.

On the corner of the grave site,
A toothless hag dressed as a demented mother Theresa gums the words out..

“ the oldest profession is still always a back up, every person has their trade, and someone needs something” sucked through green porous gums.

Druids and Gauls decay alike, the rot and bonemeal feeding into bread babies of the Roman colony.

I can feel my bones ache, not from habit but from instead the witting decay, cells calling for shutdown time, keep this meat structure intact for now.

Fighting inevitability and fate, recycling lunacy for me to clumsily navigate this day.

I’ve eaten disgusting food many a time due to simply worrying about waste, just as I’ll take any drugs I find from medicine cabinets.

Christmas Day, oh I can see my version, still with cheese, but pagan sacrifice, opium rituals and sexual games. Worshipping the mother, our earth.

Freud eagerly awaits around the corner, raising a monocle and a perverted notebook, my panic rising as he begins to speak.

I squeak, “away have at you” as I throw the bag of Fishscale Cocaine his way. I decided to keep the morphine for myself as he’d be satisfied with Coke alone.

Eating Morphine is wasteful, like sniffing, so boofed or injected it will have to be…

I watch in totem Tobacco smoke, it is a mirage, like cigarettes can only be enjoyed with alcohol, but nothing compared to smoking or vaping on the nod.

The back door slams, a weed Christmas tree spills over the kitchen floor, “oh fuck me” says the resigned Space Cadet. Just because this guy doesn’t know top shelf to brick weed.

I have no idea where Freud went, and the space cadet is lost scraping up crystals under kitchen cabinets. I eat the morphine out of contempt.

I hum to myself “a bottle of whisky and I could find my funeral a good time”

You can hear the screams from the police station, clock tower on the dawn. A junky has been given 2mg of Diazepam instead of a pint of methadone a day.

The custody sergeant highlights with a stubby toe, “this is the procedure, holding prisoners can only be tortured with useless treatment” as he nods the morse code of a lower than 90 IQ.

I watch the restless legs of 568ml Done, power kinetic an entire Television set for the station to watch, while civilians are murdered in the village square, lynched and butchered worse than dogs.

and prison labour is supposed to be cheap!